🐾 Episode 13: The Deal Slips Away

The phone rang.
Percival lunged.

“Hello? Yes! This is Percival — we were just about to—”
He stopped. His ears shot up. His face twisted.
“What do you mean you’ve made a deal with another writing team? But it’s his journal — his real journal!”

His voice rose. His tail lashed. He spun in circles, chasing it madly as if he were trying to tie himself into a knot.

I, Sir Woofington, watched from the side, eyes wide, head tilted.
“What’s going on?” I asked softly.

Percival waved a paw frantically, still shouting into the phone.
I stepped closer, placing a gentle paw on his back.

He pushed me away.

I stumbled backward, falling flat onto the floor. From my spot below, I gazed up at him, straining to catch pieces of the conversation. His voice was sharp, frantic, desperate.
Finally — with a furious jab at the screen — he ended the call.

🐾 The Beagle Breaks

Percival let out a howl of frustration, spinning in tighter and tighter circles, his little paws a blur on the studio floor. His face flushed red — then an odd shade of lavender, then a sickly green.

I clambered to my feet, heart pounding.
“Percival, stop! Stop, dear fellow!”

I placed both paws gently but firmly on his quaking shoulders, pressing down just enough to steady him.
“Look at me,” I murmured, smoothing his fur like a kindly old papa. “Breathe, Percival. Tell me what has happened.”

🐾 The Crushing News

Percival sagged, eyes wide and watery.
“They made a deal,” he whispered.
I frowned. “A deal…?”

“With another writing team,” he choked. “For your story. They bought their pitch. They — they wouldn’t listen. I tried. I told them you were the real thing! But…”
He sank onto the floor, tail limp.
“I think the other guys were cheaper. Or maybe they already had a connection. I don’t know. We’re… we’re out.”

🐾 Reclaiming Identity

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply — the same meditative breath I used beside my koi pond.

Then, with slow, deliberate care, I reached up and tore off the ridiculous glittering accessories the stylist had dressed me in.
I brushed back my fur, straightened my treasured red bow tie, and slipped on my round red spectacles.

Standing tall, I placed my forepaws gently but firmly on Percival’s shoulders.
“Listen to me,” I said softly. “You, Percival, are a Beagle — a born deal-maker. You have tenacity in your very bloodline. Stop chasing your own tail. Stop selling us short.”

His eyes lifted to mine, trembling.

I drew in a steadying breath.
“There must be a million other studios, a million other doors. But first — find someone who can help. A manager, an agent, an ally. We cannot do this alone.”

🐾 Closing Reflection

Percival sat still for a moment, blinking.
Then, slowly, a grin spread across his small, clever face.

Dear reader, no gift I could have given him was greater than this:
the gift of seeing himself for who he truly was.

And perhaps, as we both rose to face this new, uncertain future,
I, too, was finally ready to be who I truly was.